There’s a flicker of tightness in Cullen’s voice, but before I have a chance to ask about it, we pass through the double doors into the heart of the reception. Renowned murals decorate the bar’s walls, scenes of various pleasures depicted by an artist’s vibrant brush. The slowly milling groups of people are dressed as formally as Cullen and me, which at least means I’m not alone in my suffering. Or maybe I am. Cullen certainly seems as much at ease in his tuxedo as he does in his rescue gear. I guess he’s right. When you run a hospital network, you learn to camouflage yourself in the environment.
Spotting my mother and Greg over by the baby grand piano, I steer us that way, nearly tripping over my heels as I catch sight of two men in tuxedos with press credentials clipped to their lapels. Jaden Harris and Martin Bainbridge, the Manhattan Post editor who fired me.
“What manner of Murphy’s Law has Jaden here?” I murmur to Cullen under my breath. “The bastard doesn’t even cover medical news.”
Cullen brushes his thumb slowly over my hand. “I made a special request to the Post.”
I jerk my head toward Cullen’s, but before I can demand what the heck he was thinking, my mother and Greg walk over with champagne in hand.
“Lary, honey, don’t you just look wonderful.” Leaning toward me, my mother touches her cheek to mine, kissing the air the way they do in movies set in Paris. “Let me finally introduce you to Greg Andrews. Greg, this is my daughter, Skylar. Lary, Greg.”
“A pleasure to finally meet you.” Greg shakes my hand, his grip strong without being crushing. In a tux similar to Cullen’s, he looks like the textbook doctor with graying hair, intelligent eyes, and diamond cuff links in the shape of the star of life. Turning his gaze to Cullen, Greg holds out his hand. “And you must be the Cullen Hunt responsible for keeping Skylar in Colorado?”
“I’ve learned that no one keeps Skylar anywhere, sir,” Cullen says, returning that handshake. “But I’m grateful she’s decided to stay.”
Greg frowns at the clasped hands. “Are you injured, Mr. Hunt?”
Cullen blinks. “Sir?”
“My grandmother has a firmer handshake, son.”
Cullen withdraws his hand, placing it behind his back into a parade rest position. “I’ve been told that it’s disrespectful to put pressure on a cardiac surgeon’s fingers, sir.”
Greg blinks. “What blathering self-pompous idiot gave you that notion?”
Cullen’s other hand joins its partner in the small of his back. “My father.”
Uncomfortable silence fills the air between the men, creeping to encompass my mother and me. I rack my brain for something to say and almost laugh when I find the same lost bewilderment shaping her face. If my mother and I have been on the same side of anything in the last two decades, I don’t remember it.
Suddenly, Greg snaps his finger. “Hunt. Your father wouldn’t have been Henry Hunt the third, would he?”
“He was.” Cullen’s voice is utterly void of emotion.
Greg’s is not. “I knew him. I mean, it’s all been many years ago, but we crossed paths a couple of times over business matters. Now it all makes sense.” Greg grins, clapping Cullen’s shoulder. “Good God, man, I know who you are now. In fact, I’ve always wondered how any offspring of Henry’s could land so far from the tree to do good for a change. Not just for your hometown, but for our country as well. I hope you don’t mind my forwardness, son. It’s always been my way. Now, how do I talk you into giving me a tour of Trident Medical?”
Seeing the spark of interest in Cullen’s gaze, I step away a couple of paces to let the men talk while I catch up with my mother.
“I take it you won’t be returning to New York, Lary?” she asks wistfully.
“I’ve been offered a position at Denton Valley PD in their internal investigations unit. But it looks like you may be visiting us soon.” I point my chin toward the men and see my mother’s face soften as she watches Greg talk enthusiastically about something.
“Sometimes you go looking for one thing and something else finds you instead.” Her voice tightens. “Back straight, Lary. There’s a pair of reporters coming our way. Please tell me that is not Jaden I see.”
My stomach tightens. “It is.”
“The Jaden?”
“Mr. Hunt.” Bainbridge stops beside Cullen and Greg, Jaden hanging a few feet behind. “Martin Bainbridge, Post. Can you tell us what brings the CEO of Trident Medical Group all the way to New York City? Is there a merger being discussed?”
“This is a personal trip, actually,” Cullen tells the editor, holding his arm out to me. “But I imagine the person you really want to speak to is Skylar Reynolds.”
What the hell are you doing, Cullen? I plaster on a fake smile that matches the one on Bainbridge’s face as Cullen folds me against his body.
“Ms. Reynolds,” Bainbridge says tightly. “What an…unexpected time to see you again.”
A smirk slides over Jaden’s face, lighting up his eyes. “Mr. Hunt, did your lady friend not mention that she had departed the Post under some unfortunate circumstances? Fortunately, Denton Valley seems much more lax when it comes to journalistic integrity, so I’m happy to hear that Skylar found a place more suitable for her…creative writing needs. Ms. Reynolds.” Jaden turns toward me, all but preening at the exclusive drama he’s drumming up for the Post’s front page. “Wasn’t your editor at Denton Uncovered arrested for multiple charges a few weeks back? Blackmail and possession of controlled substances, I believe?”
Undiluted fury-filled heat fills my face, Jaden’s loud speech now drawing a crowd. I reach for my voice and find nothing but rage filling my lungs. With so many eyes on us now, maybe that’s for the best.
Seeming to suffer no such handicap, Cullen releases me and blades his body to stand halfway between my ex and me. Not to protect me from Jaden, I realize, but to keep me from tearing the bastard limb from limb in the middle of a ritzy bar.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you again under better circumstances, Mr. Harris,” Cullen says, the look of surprise on Jaden’s face at Cullen’s choice to reference their prior incident mirroring my own confusion. Cullen, however, presses on, this time addressing my former editor. “Mr. Bainbridge, I’m a big fan of the Manhattan Post, especially your coverage of the military. In fact, I just referred Major Lovvit to your office. Did you have a chance to speak with him?”
Bainbridge frowns. “He must have called after we’d already departed today.”
“No problem. Let me share the lead with you directly.” Reaching into his tux pocket, Cullen pulls out a neatly folded sheet of paper, Rowen Security’s logo visible at the corner. Around us, other members of the press close in, cameras and notepads at the ready. My heart pounds, and I hope to God, Cullen knows what he’s doing, because I sure don’t. “Approximately eight months ago, a Post reporter had intended to write an exposé on several marines whose partying turned to assault.”
Jaden literally scoffs, huffing out a burst of air through his front teeth. “That’s old news. Ancient history.” He deliberately eyes me. “The report and reporter were shown to be hacks, and the story was never printed.”